Siobhan
by autumnrose2010
Summary: While vacationing on the Emerald Isle, Illya has an otherworldly encounter and solves a centuries-old mystery. Originally posted for ficpic Tuesday on livejournal. Chapter two now up.
1. Chapter 1

As Illya lay on the vibrant green grass looking up at the puffy white clouds floating like puffs of cotton in the clear blue sky, he knew that he'd made the right choice of destinations for his leave time. So far he'd found the Emerald Isle, rich in both beauty and tradition, to be the perfect place to relax and let his worries melt away. Never before had he seen grass so green or hills so high, or met people so open and friendly. He knew that the openness and friendliness had its flip side, but so far he had yet to have a personal encounter with the legendary Irish temper.

He never even saw her approach, and yet suddenly she was there. She was young, fifteen or sixteen at the most, and there was a vague, ephemeral quality about her which Illya couldn't quite put his finger on, but which made her seem almost as if she were a sprite or pixie or another of the magical creatures said to inhabit this land.

"Who are you?" he asked her.

"Siobhan." Her voice was almost a whisper, and it had a lilt, an almost musical quality to it. "Come with me."

Transfixed, Illya seemed to have lost his power of free will as he followed her beckoning finger. The place she led him to was a castle, high on a cliff beside the sea. The uneven terrain leading up to its entrance seemed hazardous, yet Siobhan seemed to scale it effortlessly, and Illya found that, to his surprise, he was also able to do so.

The castle's walls were bleak and grey, and although it was still almost completely intact, Illya could tell that it had been built many years ago. Wordlessly, his mysterious visitor led the UNCLE agent down stairs that looked as if they might crumble beneath their feet at any minute. Down, down, even further down they went, until the Russian realized that he was standing in a dungeon beneath the castle.

Once his eyes became adjusted to the dark, Illya had to gasp in shock. Chained to the floor right beside him was a skeleton. From its size, he could tell that its owner had been very tiny and petite, little more than a child, and from the width of its pelvis, he knew that it was female. Right beside it was a much larger skeleton, this one belonging to a male.

"Who were they? What happened to them?" Illya demanded, but when he turned his head, he saw that Siobhan had completely disappeared, and he was all alone in the dungeon with the two skeletons. Badly shaken, he somehow made his way out of the castle and to the local authorities, where he reported his discovery.

Much later that evening, Illya was involved in an animated discussion with one of the locals at a neighborhood pub. "Twas the O'Connor castle ye seen, me boy," his companion told him. "Been there several hundred years, it has. Paddy O'Connor was a mean, cruel brute of a man. They say even the fairy folk was a' feared 'o 'im. One day 'e saw a local girl and lusted after 'er. Legend says 'er name was Siobhan, and she was only 'bout sixteen years old. Paddy asked 'er father for 'er hand in marriage. Scared ta death, the man was goin' to take 'is whole family and run away ta England wi' 'em. Night afore 'e was ta leave, Siobhan disappeared. Nobody ever saw 'er or Paddy O'Connor again. They say that castle is cursed, me boy. Best ye stay away from it from now on."

Illya was stricken with awe, and even felt honored in a spooky kind of way. _It was me, _he told himself. _After all these years, it was me she cho_se _to find her so that she could finally have a Christian burial. I cannot wait to tell Napoleon. He is not going to believe this._


	2. Chapter 2

"We have examined the human remains that you brought to our attention and have determined that, due to their age, this case is not within the jurisdiction of our forensics department to investigate," the chief police constable of Galway told Illya. "Rather, we have decided that the best course of action would be to turn them over to the archeology department of our local museum. They will determine their exact age and cause of death, if possible, and anything else that can be known about them."

"And what will happen then?" asked Illya.

"That will be the museum's decision to make," the constable replied. "They may be exhibited right away, or put into storage until a later date."

"But that is not what Siobhan would have wanted!" Illya protested. He thought of the rosary he'd seen clutched in the dead girl's hand. Even though he didn't share her beliefs, he respected them. "She would not have wanted to be put on display for people to gawk at! She would have wanted to be laid to rest in dignity so that her soul could be at peace!"

"There's nothing I can do about that." Illya could almost see the constable's helpless shrug. "It's up to the museum to determine the fate of the remains, but we do appreciate your alerting us to this matter, Mr. Kuryakin."

Realizing that it was not within the jurisdiction of UNCLE to interfere in such matters either, Illya sadly decided to take a walk, hoping that that would help to clear his mind. Eventually he arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned church. The walls were made of brick, and there was an arched doorway that had also been bricked up. Illya wondered what it had formerly led to. As he stood there deep in thought, he heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see a kindly-looking middle-aged man wearing a clerical collar.

"I'm Father Donovan," the priest told Illya. "What troubles ye, me lad?"

Illya suddenly found himself telling the older man everything he could of Siobhan's story, omitting, of course, the parts that might make him appear mad.

"Ye be right," Father Donovan agreed when he'd finished. "The poor lass cannot rest until her earthly remains have been consecrated to God. Ye and I shall pay a visit to that museum right away."

Knowing that his chances of persuading the museum to ultimately release the remains would be vastly improved if he were accompanied by the priest, Illya agreed.

After some deliberation, the museum reluctantly agreed to turn the remains over to Father Donovan once they were finished with them.

That night, Illya was preparing to retire when the form of a huge man appeared before him. The man wore seventeenth century clothing, and he had an unkempt red beard and ferocious blue eyes that sent cold chills down Illya's spine. The Russian knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that his visitor was none other than Paddy O'Connor himself.

"How dare ye threaten to take me lass away!" the specter bellowed. "She belongs wi' me for all eternity, ya wee ball-beg!"

Illya was petrified. He knew that none of the weapons in his arsenal would be effective against a supernatural being. As Paddy advanced menacingly, the blond felt his knees begin to knock together.

Suddenly Illya saw Paddy's eyes widen in fear. Startled, he looked behind himself to see Father Donovan holding a crucifix pointed straight at Paddy. With an inhuman shriek, the specter disappeared as quickly as he'd come.

"I figured ye might have some trouble tonight, so I followed ye," the priest explained.

"I am so glad you did!" Normally such an admission would have annoyed Illya, but after an encounter with Paddy O'Connor, all her felt was sweet relief.

A week or so later, Illya had another talk with the museum's archeology director. "As it turns out, the legend you heard may indeed be true. The bones are about three hundred years old, and one set belongs to a female of about fifteen years, and the other to a male of about thirty-five. There are no signs of physical trauma to either skeleton, indicating that their deaths were likely due to natural causes."

_He must have kept her chained down there until she starved to death, _Illya reflected glumly. He didn't even want to think about the sexual atrocities that might have been performed on the poor girl. _At least her suffering is over with now. Well, almost over with._

Illya's eyes were moist with tears as he added the last few shovel fulls of dirt to the grave on the grounds of O'Connor castle. He'd dug it himself as soon as the Father Donovan had returned from the museum with Siobhan's bones. The priest stood beside him, reading in Latin from a book. Illya didn't understand his words, but he knew that they had meaning for Siobhan.

At last he was finished. The marker was a very simple affair, a plain wooden cross with the name 'Siobhan' written on it. No surname, and no birth or death dates.

"Do you suppose she would approve of it?" Illya asked Father Donovan.

"Her soul is finally at peace," the priest replied.

Suddenly, she was there again, just as she'd been before. "Thank you," she whispered. Before Illya could respond, she was gone.


End file.
